The Spaces Between
by Fionnthedog
Summary: An attempt to map the "spaces between" canon Matthew and Mary. Mostly internal monologue as I imagine it might be. Mostly S2.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Mary 1914

Hot tears burned Mary's cheeks. She didn't often allow herself to give in to her emotions like this, but today she couldn't find the willpower. She'd excused herself from company with a headache, but it was really heartache. Her heart physically ached for Matthew, and he was gone.

She knew he'd been telling the truth when he said he'd have stayed if she'd accepted him, and so she knew that it was her fault he'd gone. She'd ruined everything with her dithering and, ultimately, her cowardice. She wasn't brave enough to show him who she really was, and loved him too much to allow him to marry her without knowing.

There was a knock at the door and Anna entered with a tray of sandwiches.

"You must try and eat milady" she said laying the tray down on the dresser.

Mary said nothing, but smiled weakly at the maid.

"It will get better"

"Will it?" Mary replied, genuinely unsure.

As Anna left, Mary got up from the bed and moved over to the dresser. She sat looking at her tear stained face remembering the first time she realised she might be falling in love with Matthew. It was that dinner where Sir Anthony had choked on the salty pudding. She had never laughed with a man like she laughed with Matthew that night, and when she realised she'd hurt him she felt awful. Whilst she didn't admit it, even to herself, for a good while after, that was the start.

She began to wipe her face, trying to erase the evidence of her tears. All that was in the past now; the laughter and the flirting, the fun and the promise of the future. She'd broken Matthew's heart and he was gone; gone to fight and probably never return. The tears began to fall again.

Matthew 1914

Matthew lay on his bunk trying to sleep listening to the snores of those around him. He often found it difficult to sleep these days and, as usual, his thoughts drifted inexorably to Mary.

Sometimes he allowed himself to remember the good times, when he dared to think she might be his wife, but usually he forced himself to remember their final words. To remember that she never really loved him, at least not enough to want to spend the rest of her life with him. It was painful but it worked. Over the months since he'd left Downton for his training he'd been able to lock his feelings away into a painful corner of his heart which, usually, he could ignore. He was only plagued by it when he was awake in the small hours of the morning and everyone else was asleep. It was manageable.

Tonight he allowed himself a moment's indulgence; he allowed himself to remember how she literally took his breath away the first time he saw her. She was without doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He sighed quietly to himself as he remembered their only kiss; a kiss which made his insides do somersaults and his head feel light.

"Enough" he said out loud, as he forced himself to remember her inability to tell him that she loved him and to remember how she had faltered when she thought his inheritance was in question. The familiar pain re-surfaced.

He turned over and tried, again, to forget about Mary. There was no other option. He had to move on.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mary August 1916

Mary had been introduced to Sir Richard Carlisle by a mutual acquaintance at a party at Clifton. She'd made an effort to turn on her old charm, and it had worked. At the end of the night he'd asked if he could see her again and, automatically, she'd said she'd be delighted.

Sir Richard was rich and powerful and well on his way to a peerage. Whilst he was not 'old money' he did have money by the bucketful and he would give her a place in society. He was older that she would previously have considered but that war had meant for certain practicalities and, despite his age, they seemed to get on well enough.

Mary was frustrated that, despite Sir Richard's credentials, she was not very excited about the prospect of marrying him and, worse, that there was a tight ball of disappointment in her stomach that this had to be her future. The problem, of course, was Matthew.

She knew that she had missed her chance of marrying Matthew but he had shown what it could be like to marry for love. She had seen Sir Richard on a number of occasions since the party at Clifton and, whilst pleasant enough, she knew she didn't love him like she had loved Matthew. They didn't laugh together like she and Matthew did, and her eyes didn't automatically seek him out in a room. It was nice but it was not love. The pre-Matthew Mary would've laughed at the idea of worrying about such a thing, but Matthew had changed her. She had tasted true love and she couldn't forget it.

Matthew! Oh god, she had cried for weeks and weeks over their separation until she thought she would never recover and then, one day, she had done what she knew she needed to: she picked herself up and moved on. She resolved to only think of him unless she absolutely had to and, for the most part, she achieved her goal. Her parents and her sisters had avoided talking of him around her which suited her fine, and Isobel had become an infrequent visitor at the house since the war had started.

Tonight, though, as she contemplated marrying another she couldn't help but think of the man she knew she should've married when she had the chance. She knew she had to be careful. Despite how things must appear to others she couldn't be absolutely sure that she wasn't still in love with him, and dwelling too much on the past would only open the wounds again. What would Matthew think of her marrying Sir Richard? Would he care? She wondered what she would think if she heard that he was marrying someone else and such a wave of regret washed over her that she thought she might cry.

"Stop it" she exclaimed to herself.

It was futile to think of Matthew in that way. It was over. She had broken his heart and then, in turn, he had broken hers. It was time to face the future. She had to marry and if she couldn't marry for love, she might as well marry for money and position.

Decision made, Mary turned over and went to sleep.

Matthew August 1916

It had been a whirlwind fortnight's leave for Matthew. He could scarcely believe it. Having been relieved at the front he had travelled initially for a very brief visit to his mother's and then, as had become his pattern, had travelled down to stay with friends in London away from Downton.

Matthew had never really been one for parties, but war changed people. When every day at the front could be his last he had found that he wanted to feel alive when he was home. So he had gone to a friend's party, and had met a girl.

Lavinia was sweet and kind, but she was also witty and clever; they'd spent the whole evening talking of politics and books and music. He'd felt truly alive for the first time in two years and, at the end of the night, had asked whether he could see her the next day. They had met for tea the next day, and every day until he had to return to France.

Lavinia had promised to write to him and he had no doubt that she would. She was open and honest, and he knew from the way she looked at him that she was already very much in love with him. Her straightforwardness was refreshing, and it was so much easier going back to the front knowing he was loved in that way. The very opposite of how he had gone initially.

His mind flicked automatically to Mary who he hadn't seen for over two years. He had been so disciplined in his thinking that he now felt completely in control of his feelings. He had spoken to Lavinia of Mary as one might speak of a favourite sister, and that was how he hoped their relationship might one day end up. If he survived the war he wanted to be friends with Mary; to be brother and sister.

He had already decided that when he was next able to in England that he would ask Lavinia to marry him. There was no guarantee that he would make it through but if he did, he wanted a wife and children, and the war had taught him to seize the moment. It would not be the same as marrying Mary, but that didn't mean it had to be worse: just different. In fact, marrying Lavinia would allow him the simpler life that he often craved. Whilst they would, one day, be the Earl and Countess of Grantham, there would be many years before that when they would simply be Mr & Mrs Crawley; a title which suited Lavinia a great deal more than Mary.

It was decided then; next time he was in England he would ask Lavinia to marry him and then take her to Downton to meet Mary.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for your encouraging reviews! I'm so pleased you're enjoying it. I currently have 8 chapters written and imagine it will end up around 12 in length. As I'm primarily following canon, yes there will be a happy ending for them... eventually! Sorry about the previous glitch with this chapter. I have reported it._

Chapter 3

Mary November 1916

Mary felt as if her world had just caved in on her. Matthew was engaged. He was going to marry someone else.

Rationally she knew it made sense. She couldn't expect him just to live in limbo like she had been doing, especially when he might not even make it through the war. She wanted him to be happy, but thinking about someone other than her being the one to make him happy made her feel unbearably sad.

She wondered what Lavinia Swire would be like. No one seemed to know anything about her other than that Matthew had met her in London. Would she be just like her? Or would Matthew have picked someone completely different? Not that it mattered really. Matthew wanted to marry her, that was all that mattered.

A fresh wave of sadness engulfed her and she was glad when her mother and sisters made moves to leave the room. Somehow she had continued to have conversation with them following Edith's revelation, but she felt very close to crying and she knew she needed sometime to compose herself before going downstairs.

"Are you alright milady?" asked Anna when they were alone.

Mary stopped trying to hold it together.

"Oh, Anna" she cried burying her face in her hands.

It made everything so final. Matthew would marry Lavinia. There was not to be any second chance for her and Matthew. It really was over now.

She looked up, fixed her face into the smile she knew she had to wear, and went downstairs. Perhaps Matthew and she would be able to be friends.

Matthew November 1916

Matthew pulled his hat off as the train pulled out of Downton Station. He exhaled slowly.

"Damn it Mary!" he swore quietly to himself.

"Damn it!"

He was so confused. He'd gone to Downton with Lavinia full of hope that he and Mary would begin their new relationship as brother and sister, and now he was all at sea again.

He had been disarmed by Mary's friendliness towards both him and Lavinia. It wasn't that he was expecting a fight exactly, but he had thought there might be some challenge. Instead she had been all smiles and warm words. She had played her sisterly role much better than he had played the brotherly one. He had thought her different from the Mary he'd left, though. Softer perhaps, but also a little lost. He knew the war must've changed her, as it had changed them all, but he was sure there was something else as well; something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

All he did know was that he had spent his time at Downton wanting to make it better, and hating the fact that it wasn't his job to. And then she'd been there just now at the station. He pulled the little stuffed dog out of his pocket and smelled it; it smelled faintly of her and his head swam. He felt like her kiss had been seared into his neck. This was certainly not how one should feel about one's sister!

He pulled out from his bag the photograph of Lavinia which she had given him, at his request, before he left. Dear, sweet, darling Lavinia. He did love her of that he was sure, but it was a gentler, quieter, safer love than he had felt for Mary. His feelings for Mary had always felt out of his control, wild and dangerous. And he feared that he had felt that familiar fire licking around the edges of his heart as the train had pulled away and he'd watched Mary's lonely figure recede into the smoke.

"Damn you, Mary Crawley!" he said again.

She always made life so complicated.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Mary April 1917

Carson had made it sound so bloody easy: 'Tell him what's in your heart' he'd said, and it sounded so simple, and obvious, that Mary had headed over to Crawley House to find him as soon as she had a spare moment.

It was unlike her to be so impulsive, and on the walk over there her head caught up with her heart and she began to turn over all the reasons why this was a bad idea. Chief among them being Pamuk. If the idea was to tell Matthew the truth then she had to tell the whole truth, and she still didn't think she could. If Matthew went off to war despising her she knew her heart would be broken all over again, and it had barely recovered from last time. She knew her mother and grandmother thought her irrational for feeling she had to tell him of her folly, but it was as it was. Even if he did break it off with Lavinia, which was by no means certain, Pamuk would surely mean he would never make an offer to her.

By the time she had arrived at Crawley House her resolve had faltered, and Lavinia's tears had been the end of it. She couldn't see Lavinia's heart broken for no reason, she didn't deserve it. Perhaps the old Mary might've taken pleasure in the victory, but she now knew the pain of a broken heart and she couldn't wish it on anyone.

Earlier in the day Richard had proposed as she was sure he would. It hadn't been a passion-filled proposal like Matthew's three years ago, but, as Richard himself had acknowledged, that wasn't who they were. They would be more like a business partnership, but they would be a powerful team. He could give her a life.

She and Matthew would just have to be friends. She would go to his wedding and smile, and he would come to hers and congratulate her. She would accept Richard's proposal in due course; even if it was second best, it was the only way forward.

Matthew July 1917

Matthew felt content. Much more content than when he had last left Downton for the front. He had been in England for a few months, seen Mary on a number of occasions and felt in control and settled in decision to marry Lavinia. He was even beginning to think that he and Mary might actually be able to be proper friends. Perhaps he might write to her...

He had been so confused after his first visit to Downton. Seeing Mary had affected him much more than he had ever thought it would. But life back in the trenches had given him plenty of time to think. It had been unrealistic of him to expect himself to feel nothing more than friendship when seeing Mary again. He had been violently in love with her, and only managed to move on by pushing her out of his mind. Seeing her again was always going to test his resolve, and so it had.

But alone in the trenches he had been able to think more rationally about Mary. She had been kind and warm towards him, but had given him no reason to think things were any different between them than they were when they parted. And in any case, she had just written to say she was engaged to Sir Richard which, if nothing else, must prove that she was not in love with him.

Mary wanted to them be friends and friends they would be. He knew that he would always have to be careful not to allow his fire for Mary to re-ignite, but he was confident that it wouldn't. He loved Lavinia and, should he be spared, he would marry Lavinia and they would be very happy together. He looked up at her photograph which he kept beside his bunk and smiled. Sitting next to the photograph was the stuffed dog that Mary had given him and which he had taken to keeping in his pocket when he went out on patrol. He felt a little guilty that he took the dog rather than the photo, but it was as it was.

He lay back on his bunk and thought of Downton. He couldn't wait to be back.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Mary January 1918

Mary felt emotionally drained after the last 24 hours. It had only been a matter of hours where she actually thought Matthew might be dead but it had felt like an eternity. And seeing him again after thinking he was dead had only seemed to make her feelings stronger and more dangerously close to the surface.

Since Matthew had returned to the front the last time she'd felt like she was living two lives. Outwardly she was getting on with her life with Richard; not quite planning the wedding (the war had proved a convenient excuse to delay) but certainly planning their future together. Inside, though, she remained consumed with Matthew. It was as if, inside, she given in to her feelings for him and let them run wild. Even before he went missing she had been praying for him every night, little good it seemed to have done, and kept a photograph of him in the drawer in her dresser.

She wanted so much to love Matthew in the way that he loved her, as a friend or a sister, but it seemed to get harder rather than easier. When Matthew had told her he would run up to London to see Lavinia she had felt crushed, all over again. But obviously he wanted to see Lavinia. She cursed herself for being so weak. Matthew had clearly moved on and she knew she needed to too. She had Sir Richard, but the awful truth was that he wasn't enough. Matthew was in love with Lavinia. She and Richard had never pretended that was how things were between them; theirs was a partnership of mutual benefit, but it allowed room for her to still be in love with Matthew. She felt utterly trapped. She would marry Richard, but also go on loving Matthew and be crushed every time he chose Lavinia over her.

She closed her eyes. Matthew was alive though. That had to be the main thing. Bleak as her future seemed, it had seemed utterly desolate whilst she thought he might be gone forever. She could love him, and care for him, from afar. That would just have to be enough.

Lavinia January 1918

Lavinia hated saying goodbye to Matthew. It seemed that their entire relationship had consisted of saying goodbye. She loved him so terribly much; it broke her heart each time he had to go back to the front.

She wrote to him faithfully every week whilst he was away, and he always wrote back whenever he could. His letters spoke little of what was going on in France, but much of how much he was looking forward to their life together when it was all over.

Sometimes she couldn't quite believe that Matthew wanted to marry her and that that meant that one day she would be the Countess of Grantham. It seemed so absurd and unlikely. When Matthew had told her that he was heir to Lord Grantham she had thought him teasing her, and had been embarrassed when she had realised her mistake. She thought back to that party where they had meant. She knew she wanted to marry him after that first evening together where they'd talked of politics, art, music - oblivious the party going on around them.

She sighed as she remembered those early, heady days before Downton and before her nagging doubts. She loved Matthew with all her heart, and she knew that he loved her, but sometimes she wondered if she really had all of his heart. Lately she had begun to worry that some of his heart belonged to his glamorous cousin Mary. She felt ashamed doubting him, and she had had nothing but kindness from Mary, but, nonetheless, in the back of her mind a little voice had begun to whisper.

It was no secret that Matthew had a great affection for his eldest cousin; he'd told her so himself on many occasions, but sometimes the way he looked at her seemed more than sisterly. And sometimes when the two of them were talking together she felt like an outsider; like they might not notice if she wasn't there.

Matthew had told her once that when he first arrived at Downton as the new heir everyone had assumed that he and Mary would marry, as she had been due to marry the previous heir. When Lavinia had questioned Matthew on why that hadn't happened he'd told her, simply, that it wasn't what either of them had wanted. But when she saw them together she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to their past relationship than Matthew was letting on. She would understand if he had been in love with her in the past: she was beautiful, elegant, and strong. And Mary would make a superlative Countess of Grantham, much much better than she ever would.

Lavinia re-read Matthew's latest letter to her to try and reassure herself:

"Stay well my darling. I think of you always and the thought of starting our new life together keeps me going."

Lavinia tucked the letter under her pillow and said a prayer for her beloved Matthew. If he said he loved her then she must trust him. He was a trustworthy man after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Mary August 1918

Mary sat and watched Matthew sleeping, watching his chest slowly rise and fall. Since he had arrived at the hospital she had spent a great many hours at his bedside watching, and praying. Even when Lavinia had been here she couldn't tear herself away; she had to be with him, to care for him.

The swelling on his face had begun to go down so he was looking more like her darling Matthew, but, when he was awake, he was nothing like the Matthew she knew. He was dark and melancholic and repeatedly told her he wished he was dead. She stroked his hand gently so as not to wake him. His melancholia had started when he had found out about his legs and the implications for his ability to have children, and she couldn't blame him, but such a blackness had clouded his eyes that Mary had wept many times as she'd prayed for them to regain their beautiful blue.

Lavinia was gone. Sent away by Matthew who felt himself too damaged for any woman despite the fact that two woman loved him more than anyone else in the world. She supposed she should've felt a triumph as Lavinia left but she only felt an utter sadness and grief for Matthew who felt himself so unloveable.

The whole situation made her feel like her life was on pause. She'd had to tell Richard about Pamuk which had, in turn, forced a formal announcement of their engagement, but she couldn't think or plan for a wedding or their life together. All she could think of was Matthew and how wretchedly unfair it all was.

Matthew stirred in his sleep and she quickly removed her hand, suddenly conscious of how long she'd been holding it. She closed her eyes and prayed again for Matthew.

Matthew August 1918

Matthew knew he should feel grateful at having been spared, but he couldn't manage it. He felt like his injuries had stripped him of everything that made life worth living and now he was nothing; just a shell. The world and everything in it seemed to have turned to ashes and slipped through his fingers.

He'd sent Lavinia away; he'd had to. His life now was no life for her and, whatever she said now, she would end up hating him, how could she not. He was damaged beyond repair and couldn't even consummate their marriage let alone provide her with children. His life now was no life for any woman, not Lavinia, and not Mary either.

Mary! Oh god, Mary. How relieved she must be to have escaped being married to him and facing life as his nurse. He saw the pity and the revulsion in her eyes as she sat with him and it made him feel sick. He could be nothing to her now.

He felt the hot tears burn as they spilled out from his eyes again. He was truly pathetic.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Mary November 1918

So much seemed to have changed in one day: Matthew, Lavinia, Richard. Mary's head span as she tried to process the changes.

She'd spent the last three months caring for Matthew and she had succeeded in bringing him back to them. He wasn't quite there yet, the blackness was still there around the edges, but he was gradually getting better. That ridiculous Canadian pretending to be Patrick had set him back a bit, but she was confident that it would only be a blip in his recovery.

The two of them had spent literally hours together each day mostly just talking and watching the summer slowly turn into the autumn. It had been a hard road, but there had been many beautiful moments along the way, like when she'd been able to take him outside for the first time, and she was as close to Matthew as she had ever been. Despite his ongoing insistence that he could never be with any woman, she knew she was as in love with him as she'd ever been and had even been beginning to think about breaking things off with Richard. It didn't quite seem fair to him somehow to carry on with their engagement.

That was before Lavinia's return to Downton, and to Matthew, and Richard's threats to expose her as a whore should she end their engagement. Her head span again as she saw all her unsaid hopes and dreams slipping out of her reach for the second time.

Lavinia had arrived unexpectedly with Richard yesterday evening and inexplicably managed to convince Matthew almost immediately that they should resume their relationship. She knew that Richard was the primary architect of this new development but nonetheless her eyes stung with jealousy as she saw Lavinia taking over her role as his primary carer.

Richard was a hard man, she had known that all along, and he was fighting for what was his. He had removed the possibility of his rival, and was now securing her hand in the only way he felt he could. She had been aware over the preceding months that she had been provoking him with her increasingly open affection for Matthew, but she hadn't been able do anything about it. It was like she'd opened a floodgate which she'd been holding back for six years, and now he had forced her to stem to flow again; to resume her place as his dutiful fiancée and relinquish any outward affection for Matthew. She had been beaten; outmanoeuvred and forced back to his side. He would not just ruin her reputation if she resisted, but also that of her family. Any dream she had resurrected of a life with Matthew was gone again.

She supposed that she should really feel angry with Richard but she didn't. Maybe that would come in time, but right now she simply felt resigned. Resigned to reaping the consequences of her own past failings. She only hoped that Lavinia would make Matthew happy.

Matthew November 1918

The clock chimed eleven. The war was over. Matthew could scarcely believe it. Four years and countless human lives wasted, but it was over. Along with everyone else he bowed his head.

He knew he should be glad, but he actually felt sombre. Not black like he had been when he had first returned home, but sombre. Sombre for all those he'd served alongside who'd never made it home; for the women and children who would never welcome their heroes home; for all the lives changed unalterably.

He knew that his life had been changed unalterably. Whilst he had come through the worst of his depression he still hadn't quite been able to make any real plans for the future. He didn't feel quite as wretched about his lot as he had done, but he couldn't see how he could possibly be a worthwhile Earl of Grantham from a wheelchair and with no possible hope of producing an heir. He'd been being honest when he'd said that the burned Canadian would be a much better heir than him.

Lavinia began to wheel him back to the small library. He'd been very confused about her coming back. He'd been so sure that he couldn't be with any woman in his current condition, but Lavinia had been so equally sure that she didn't care that, in the end, he'd capitulated without much argument. It was nice to have someone of his very own again, but he missed Mary; they'd become closer than ever over these past months. Mary had never objected, however, when he told her that she deserved a real life, a life that he could never give her and that Richard could. He had to be realistic; these months with Mary had been nice, they had brought him back from the brink, but they were never going to be able to continue indefinitely. Mary wanted, and needed, to marry Richard and start living again and now the war was over that would surely happen soon. Like her, he had to start to make plans for his future, and Lavinia seemed to be those plans. He had wondered if his more latent feelings for Mary meant he was using Lavinia, but he had reasoned that Mary was marrying someone else and that he had, once, been in love with Lavinia and so he would surely be again in time.

Lavinia asked if he wanted tea and he smiled up at her as he said he would. He watched her as she moved over to ring the bell. If she was willing to sacrifice everything for him then he would jolly well have to love her wouldn't he?


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry about the delay in posting. Partly life, but also partly because I'm struggling with understanding Matthew from this point onwards, which is affecting my writing. If anyone wants to discuss further do pm me, or leave a comment below. Especially when he admits to himself he is still (always) in love with Mary, whether he is truly clueless of Mary's feeling until Violet's intervention in 2.07, and whether he re-proposes to L on impulse (like he seems to do most other things!)_

Chapter 8

Mary January 1919

Mary felt like her forced smile would tear her face in two. Matthew was engaged to Lavinia - again. As she sat at the dining room table smiling she had a strange sense of déjà vu as she remembered hearing of their previous engagement three years ago. Like then, she felt wretched inside, but obliged to maintain an outward facade of indifference.

"Mary, isn't that excellent news?" the Dowager asked.

"Just excellent" she managed to reply, keeping up the face-tearing smile.

Later that evening Anna asked her if she was alright, just like last time. But unlike last time she didn't dissolve into tears.

"I'm alright Anna" she replied.

"I'm weary of it all to be honest"

She was weary of it. Weary of loving Matthew; weary of being jealous of Lavinia and weary of Richard's threats and schemes. But there was nothing to be done. She had to marry Richard for the sake of her family, and now Matthew no longer faced a childless future, he should marry Lavinia.

She knew it had to be so, but she loved Matthew so much it made her very soul ache to think of this future. Having him living under the same roof for these past months, and seeing him everyday, only made everything seem so much more obvious. There was no hiding her love for him, and she had begun to wonder if he didn't feel something similar. Even since Lavinia's return they had still managed to end up spending a good deal of time to together each day before Lavinia arrived from Crawley House, talking and joking and debating things that didn't really matter. She supposed it was reckless of her to continue to spend time with Matthew like this but it didn't stop her. When they were alone together it seemed like nothing else mattered; for some short time she could forget Richard and Lavinia and everything that had gone wrong, and just be with the man she loved.

It looked like Matthew and Lavinia would marry in April so she had three months before it was completely over and Matthew was gone. She would make the most of these months and then, when Matthew was gone, she would marry Richard in July as she'd promised him.

Matthew January 1919

Matthew sat staring at his bedroom door through which Cousin Violet had just departed. He couldn't quite believe the conversation they'd had. She told him that Mary was in love with him, that Mary had always been in love with him.

He couldn't believe it. It didn't make any sense to him. Mary really in love with him? Why had she never told him? Why did she not accept his proposal all those years ago? And if she was really in love with him, why was she marrying Sir Richard? It just couldn't be true, could it? They had been spending a lot of time together recently, time which he enjoyed much more than he probably should, but she was engaged. This was just Cousin Violet meddling in an attempt to secure Downton for Mary rather than Lavinia now that he could walk again. It had to be, because if Mary really was in love with him...

"Oh God!" he exclaimed to himself, still looking at the blasted door. He hit the sides of his chair in frustration. Mary Crawley did nothing but complicate his life.

Even if it were true it didn't make any difference. It couldn't. He couldn't throw Lavinia over, not now; not after she was willing to give up everything for him; and not now they had announced their engagement. He wouldn't be that sort of man - not even for Mary.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Lavinia March 1919

Lavinia glanced over to Matthew and Mary who were deep in conversation over the other side of the room. Mary laughed and touched Matthew's arm for a moment. Matthew smiled back at her. Neither of them saw her looking.

Lavinia felt like she spent a good portion of the time that she and Matthew were at the big house watching him with Mary across the room like this and her old doubts were back with a vengeance. Of course Matthew was kind and attentive to her, and spoke excitedly of their wedding now only weeks away, but sometimes she felt she could detect a wistfulness in him and he certainly didn't laugh as much with her as he did with Mary. She had made the mistake of saying something of this to Sir Richard a few days back as they sat together watching their fiancées laugh with each other across the room. Perhaps as a result of tiredness or jealousy, or both, she had suggested that perhaps everyone needed to be a little more honest with each other. She knew it had been a mistake as Sir Richard arched his eyebrows at her, and she hurriedly tried to claim she had been referring to some wedding planning argument she and Matthew had had. She felt sure Richard had known her true meaning but had been kind enough to pretend otherwise.

The problem was she had no idea what she should do. Matthew had been so insistent upon regaining his health that they must be married that she hadn't had a chance to really think about it properly before he had announced it formally at dinner. She wanted more than anything in the world to be married to Matthew, but she needed to know that he also wanted it more than anything in the world - including Mary Crawley.

She had been conversing about the problem by letter with a very dear friend who had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she should marry Matthew regardless and do everything in her power to hasten Mary's marriage. Whilst some of Matthew's heart might belong to Mary, her friend had reasoned, he would not be the kind of man to continue such a friendship once they were married and, indeed, once they were married she could suggest that live for a while in London or Manchester which would break any attachment for good. Lavinia was sure it was well meant advice, but it seemed so mercenary. Surely if Matthew no longer wanted to marry her then she should be honourable and step aside?

She took a final sip of her drink and began to make preparations to leave for the night. Matthew noticed and, immediately stood up.

"Are you ready to leave my darling?" he asked.

She nodded and he went over to ring the bell. When Carson arrived he asked him to arrange for the car to be brought round to the front as they were ready to leave.

As he walked back to her he smiled and asked her if she'd had a good evening.

"Yes mostly" she replied.

"I have a bit of a headache though"

He was all concern and assured her he would make sure she was home as soon as possible, and that he was sure she would feel better in the morning.

Lavinia took his arm as they make their farewells to the room and looked up at his brilliant blue eyes. When he looked at her like that her doubts seemed to melt away. Could she really let such a man go?


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Mary April 1919

Time seemed to have stopped. Nothing mattered except the two of them: not the Spanish Flu, not the upcoming wedding, not the heartbreak of the past. It felt like they were dancing together in the absolute calm of the eye of a storm. Mary knew, somewhere in the very peripheral of her mind, that she shouldn't be dancing with someone else's fiancée like this, but it was too late to stop now; they had to finish what they had started.

As the gramophone played on, she looked up at Matthew. She was acutely aware of the space between them and Matthew's hand on her lower back. She wanted to say something, but her mind seemed to be curiously unfocused.

"We were a show that flopped" she ventured in reference to Matthew's description of the music they were dancing to.

Matthew's gaze softened and he pulled her closer in to him. She felt as though she might stop breathing. How could something be so wrong and yet feel so right at the same time. She felt Matthew's lips graze her ear:

"Oh God, Mary!" he whispered.

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. She knew how dangerous this was, but she couldn't stop it, not now.

"I'm so so sorry" Matthew continued.

"Do you know how sorry I am?"

Mary had a moment of pure clarity: Matthew had never stopped loving her, just as she had never stopped loving him. She felt a strange sort of peace in that knowledge despite the fact that it didn't, and couldn't, alter their respective situations. He loved her: that was enough.

"Don't be" she responded looking up at him.

"It wasn't anyone's fault, and if it was, it was mine."

Matthew April 1919

Matthew knew he should stop dancing with Mary. He knew he couldn't be trusted with her in his arms like this, but he couldn't bring himself to end it, not yet.

Since his conversation with Cousin Violet he'd gradually come to realise that she was right; Mary was in love with him, and he knew that, rightly or wrongly, he loved her back; that he had never really stopped loving her. He couldn't believe how blind he'd been, both to her feelings and his own, and how the two of them had managed to so spectacularly ruin any chance of their being together. His apology to Mary just now, whispered into her ear, was genuine and heartfelt. He'd always thought she was responsible for breaking them apart, but now, whilst he still didn't fully understand everything, he had begun to see his own hand in their separation: his proud and impulsive haste to leave Downton, his refusal to see her during those two years, his rushed engagements to Lavinia. He had been as much of a fool as she had been.

He knew he should end the dancing, but he felt that he owed Mary more than a whispered apology. In a matter of days he would be a married man and she deserved an explanation.

"You know Cousin Violet came to me and told me I should marry you" he said by way of a start. He knew she wouldn't be able to resist asking him more.

"When was this?" she asked looking at him in surprise.

He smiled.

"A while ago. When we knew I would walk again" he replied.

"Classic Granny!"

A slight pause. He wondered if she would shut things down there. They should stop, but he wanted the chance to be honest with her just once.

"What did you say?"

Here was his chance. He subconsciously tightened his embrace of her closing the space between them.

"That I couldn't accept Lavinia's sacrifice of her life, her children, her future, and then give her the brush off when I was well again. Well I couldn't could I?"

"Of course not" Mary replied quickly.

Now he had started being honest he couldn't stop. He needed her to know how he really felt; just once before he had to box those feelings up again.

When he spoke it came out hoarsely; his voice betraying his feelings. Love, longing and regret. Deep deep regret.

"However much I might want to"

He closed his eyes as Mary responded.

"Absolutely not"

He opened his eyes and looked at Mary. She was so beautiful, always so beautiful, and in that moment he felt like she was finally his. Everything faded into the background except the two of them now no longer dancing but standing still as the room seemed to spin around them.

Without thinking he kissed her and suddenly nothing mattered except that he was with her and that she was with him. He was where he was always meant to be.

It was a different kiss than the last time. That one had been full of promise of things to come; this one was simply of the moment. A never repeatable expression of all that should have been. He didn't want it to ever end.

"Hello?"

Lavinia's voice caused Mary to spring from him like she'd touched a live wire. There was a sharp stab of guilt in the pit of his stomach and he felt sick.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Lavinia April 1919

Lavinia knew what she had to do, and she felt surprisingly calm. She supposed she should be in a rage with Matthew, and Mary for that matter, but she wasn't. Perhaps rage would come in time, but for now she was simply sad. Heart-wrenchingly sad, and very very tired.

The truth was that Matthew didn't love her, not like she loved him, and not like he claimed to. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him with Mary: looking at her like she was the only person in the whole world and kissing her like he had never kissed her. Those images would be burned into her mind for all eternity. How could she have been so naive? How could she really have believed that Matthew Crawley, the future Earl of Grantham, would chose her over Lady Mary Crawley?

She was a little person, an ordinary person. She could never be Queen of the County like Mary, and Matthew's wife would be Queen of the County whether they wanted to be or not. Matthew and Mary made a fine elegant couple, and she suspected now that they had been in love with each other, albeit secretly, for a great many years. She still didn't know what had happened between them before she'd met Matthew, but, whatever it had been, it had obviously never been resolved. And now she was in the way. She'd always been in the way.

She had heard what Matthew had said: he was marrying because he felt obligated to, not because he loved her. She should never have allowed Sir Richard to talk her into coming back to Downton, and back to Matthew, but she had felt that God had wanted her to care for Matthew. And now she was ruining his life. He wanted to marry Mary and have the society bride his position merited and that his family wanted and instead he was saddled with her out of obligation and duty.

She had been able to marry him with only doubts, but now she had heard from his own lips that he wanted to marry another she knew she couldn't go through with it. Though she felt wretched now, she couldn't imagine how much worse it'd be after ten, twenty, forty years living with a man who she knew was in love with someone else; and someone who they couldn't cut out of their lives. She knew she would have a hard time convincing Matthew - he was a stubborn creature of duty, and he obviously felt she was his duty - but she would have to.

She suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired, her very bones ached. She wasn't sure if it was sickness or heartbreak causing her to feel so unwell, but she couldn't give in to it yet. Not until she'd spoken with Matthew.

Matthew April 1919

Matthew left Lavinia's room in a daze. He had to pause and lean on his stick as a wave of nausea came over him. He knew the cause was not the flu, but his own wretched guilt. He had no idea what to do. How had he become the kind of man who kissed another woman behind his fiancée's back?

He limped downstairs and into the library desperately hoping that he wouldn't see Mary, or anyone for that matter. He was in luck. He poured himself a whisky, eased himself into a chair and took a big slug. The whisky burned the back of his throat, but he knocked the rest back in one mouthful. His mind was racing.

He was in love with Mary. He had always been in love with her; there was no point in pretending anymore. But he was engaged to Lavinia; Lavinia who had been willing to give up everything for him when he had nothing to give her. And he did love Lavinia, just not in the same white-hot way he loved Mary. Ironically, given his earlier plans, he loved her like a sister.

The honourable thing was to be a man of his word and marry Lavinia, but she had given him a way out. She was willing to break their engagement so that he didn't have to; true to form she was willing to sacrifice herself for his happiness. His impulse had been that he wouldn't, he couldn't, let her. He couldn't allow her to sacrifice herself for him, he didn't deserve it, not now. He had betrayed her. But could he really marry her now? After how he had felt in Mary's arms? Wrong as it had undoubtedly been, it had still been truly beautiful. The culmination of so many long-suppressed and unspoken hopes and dreams. It had felt like coming home, not straying away. And he knew Mary had felt the same.

His heart ached with regret, and confusion. Even if he accepted Lavinia's proposal to end things between them, Mary was marrying Carlisle. Could he convince her to break things with Richard and marry him instead? Lavinia had seemed to think this was a given, but he wasn't so sure. If only he'd dared to fight for Mary before the war, instead of going off in high dudgeon. Back then he had thought life to be black and white, but it wasn't. There was nothing black and white about this situation. He had been so naive. Perhaps if he'd been able to get Mary to explain why she'd felt she couldn't say yes to him when he'd first asked then they wouldn't be in this mess now. But his pride had been wounded, and he'd spent the next six years pretending that he didn't really want to marry her in the first place. He was a fool, and he'd caught Lavinia up in his folly.

The gong rang. His head felt fuzzy from the whisky and he was no clearer and what he should do. He wanted to see Mary, to collapse into her arms and to have her tell him everything was going to be alright. He wanted her to run her hand through his hair, and whisper into his ear that she loved him and always had. He wanted to lie next to her holding hands and watching the clouds making shapes in the sky. But life was not black and white. What he wanted seemed to have little bearing on what he should do.

He supposed he would have to talk again with Lavinia when she was better and make plans - one way or the other.


	12. Chapter 12

_Right folks, this chapter begins to go a little AU though I like to think still within the bounds of what *could* be canon. The second part of this chapter is my attempt to begin to explain what happens to M &M between the end of S2 and the CS. More to come in Ch 13. Enjoy!_

Chapter 12

Matthew May 1919

Matthew hadn't been able to sleep properly for weeks. He felt like a walking corpse. When he did sleep he had a recurring dream in which he was kissing Mary who turned into a pale and ghostly Lavinia saying that it was better this way. Those words tortured him. She had given up fighting the deadly flu because of him, that kiss had taken away her will to live. He felt like the guilt would eat away at him until he was nothing but a shell and it would only be what he deserved.

It had been a few weeks since the funeral and, whilst things were less raw, he still couldn't bring himself to look at Mary. He didn't blame her like he blamed himself but it was so painfully conflicting to see her. When he saw her he thought of that kiss, and when he thought of that kiss he felt wretched, yes, but also a deep longing for her that he knew would never be sated. Before he had been able to suppress his feelings for her because he believed that she didn't return them but now he knew she did it was much harder. And yet, it had to be over. They didn't deserve to be happy with each other, not after what they had done to Lavinia.

He and Mary were fated to go through life next to each other but not with each other. He would always find her more beautiful, more alluring, more desirable than any other woman, but he would not, he could not, allow himself to be happy with her. His desire for Mary had crushed Lavinia and he deserved to be unhappy. He deserved to not be able to hold the woman he loved; he deserved not to be able to kiss her; he deserved to be alone and unhappy.

Mary June 1919

Mary hadn't spoken to Matthew since the funeral; she'd barely even seen him. She supposed he was avoiding her, but they couldn't just leave things the way they were forever. She had decided to take matters into her own hands, and had been walking in the garden every day for a week hoping to see Matthew. Today she was in luck.

He was sitting on their bench, or at least the bench she had come to think of as theirs. She'd been reading there one days, years ago now, and he'd happened upon her and suggested that if she like a good argument then they should see more of each other. They had indeed gone on to have many arguments on that bench, mostly while Matthew was recovering from his injury, and mostly about things that didn't matter. Today perhaps they would have one that did matter.

Mary took a deep breath and called out to him startling him out of his reverie. He stood up in greeting and she waved for him to sit back down joining him on the bench. There was an awkward silence, so unlike them she thought.

"We need to talk" she said deciding that a blunt approach was probably what was needed.

"I know you've been avoiding me, and I understand why, but we have to find a way forward. We're never to be free of each other, you and I, and I can't bear us not being friends."

She ran out of steam, and looked at him expectantly. She was surprised to see tears in his eyes; he looked so miserable that she wanted to take him into her arms there and then.

"Mary" he said quietly, and sadly.

"I'm sorry... I..."

He faltered, his voice cracking. She noticed he was playing with something in his hands.

"What have you got?" she asked nodding at his hands.

"Lavinia's engagement ring" he said handing her the diamond ring.

It was beautiful in an understated way, with three diamonds set into a gold band. Like Lavinia herself she mused.

"It's beautiful" she said passing it back to him.

"Thing is, I just don't know what to do with it. They gave it to me, but now I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it."

"You must keep it" Mary said.

"I can't keep it" he said his voice cracking again.

"I betrayed everything this ring was meant to stand for. I can't keep it."

"You must keep it" Mary said again.

"And in the future you must give it to your daughter and tell her of Lavinia, and how kind and sweet she was."

She closed his hand around the ring. Now was clearly not the time to have the conversation she had wanted to have. Matthew was hurting and he needed time to heal. She stood up and smoothed her skirt down.

"I want to be friends too" Matthew said as she began to walk away.

She turned round to look at him sitting in the sunlight and smiled.


	13. Chapter 13

_So, these scenes are inspired by Matthew's comment to Mary in the CS "we know where we stand" which made me wonder whether something like this might have happened. I know it doesn't really fit with Matthew's saying "I don't think so" after his mother says that Mary is still in love with him (after scattering Reggie Swire's ashes) but I'm choosing to interpret that as just part of his general reluctance to explain the situation to his mother._

Chapter 13

Matthew August 1919

Matthew was loitering. He'd been loitering for a significant amount of time but, having made the decision to talk to Mary, he wasn't going to give up until it got dark. He knew he could go up to the house and ask to see her formally but he wanted some privacy, and he seemed to remember that Mary often took a walk around this time of day. Before he'd come out he'd found the stuffed dog Mary had given him during the war and he played with it absent-mindedly as he waited.

Finally, as he was almost ready to give up, he saw her coming down the path bathed in the late summer sunshine. She looked stunning, as ever, and his heart did a nervous somersault. No going back now, he thought as he raised his hand in greeting.

"Matthew!" Mary said looking quizzically at him.

"What are you doing here? Are you wanting to see Papa?"

"No" he replied, "I was actually hoping to see you. I've been hovering in the hope you would walk this way."

"How intriguing!" Mary answered raising her eyebrows at him.

"Shall we sit then?" she said gesturing towards the bench.

On our bench he thought to himself. Fitting. He took a final squeeze of the stuffed dog for luck and sat down next to her.

"A while ago you said we needed to talk and you were right" he began. The words he'd practised in his head sounded strange now he was actually speaking them out loud. He ploughed on with his speech.

"I'm sorry it's taken me so long but I've had a lot to think about and I'm grateful for you allowing me the time to do so. There are some things I need to say to you, and I would like it if you would let me say them all before answering. Can you do that for me?"

He looked at her. She smiled and nodded, but said nothing. He took a deep breath.

"I love you, Mary Crawley. I have loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you, and I imagine I will love you until the last breath leaves my body. I wish, more than anything in the world, that I had not been such a proud and immature fool before the war and that I had not involved Lavinia in my folly. But I was, and I did. I not only involved her, but I betrayed her and I broke her heart."

He paused for a moment. Mary's face was unreadable.

"I have thought a great deal over the months since Lavinia's death, and I think that it is important that I honour her memory; that I am faithful to her in death in a way I wasn't when she was alive. I owe that to her. That dance, those words, that kiss, they were wrong and they took away her will to live.

You once said to me that we all have to live with the consequences of the choices we make and so I must live with the consequences of betraying Lavinia. And that means that, though I love you, it would be wrong of me to offer you anything other than my friendship. If I were allowed to marry you it would be like I'd benefitted from my betrayal."

He paused again, looking up at Mary. Her eyes were shining with tears but she smiled at him. It broke his heart. He took her hand and brought it up to his lips. He felt the tears escaping from his own eyes.

"You must say something my darling" he said, his voice thick, "Even if it's only goodbye."

It seemed an age until she spoke.

"I love you too Matthew"

Mary August 1919

As Mary made her way back to the house the tears began to flow freely. She'd never told a man that she loved him before, and now she was walking away from him. She understood Matthew's reasons, but it still seemed inconceivable that they should admit to each other how they felt, how they had always felt, and still be apart.

As she approached the house she saw Richard and before she could duck behind a tree and avoid him, he saw her and started out towards her. She was suddenly aware of her tear-stained face and hastily tried to wipe it with her handkerchief. She couldn't have Richard asking too many questions, not today.

"Mary!" he said as he neared her, a frustrated edge to his voice.

"Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you."

Clearly he hadn't noticed her distress, which she supposed was a good thing.

"I've been walking, like I often do before dinner. It's not late, what's the problem?"

Her tone was more combative than she wanted, and she could see Richard bridle.

"I do not expect to have to chase across the countryside to find you. I wanted to go over to Haxby before dinner, but it's too late now."

"I was not in the countryside as you put it. I was walking in the grounds of my home. I'm sorry if I have prevented you from visiting Haxby but I wasn't aware you wished me to accompany you."

"You have embarrassed me, Mary. You will never again put me in the position of not knowing where you are."

"Oh really, Richard, don't be so melodramatic. I'm not sure anyone here cares where I was and who I was with."

Richard's face hardened.

"Who were you with?" he asked.

Mary rolled her eyes in what she hoped was a convincing manner.

"For God's sake, I was walking on my own!"

Richard grabbed her by both shoulders suddenly, his face contorted with anger. For just a moment Mary wondered if she had pushed him too far. She could feel his fingers pressing bruise marks into her upper arms.

When he spoke it was quietly and menacingly.

"Do not think you can play me for a fool, Mary. If you cross me you will regret it."

He released her and stalked off back into the house leaving her alone with her tears.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Mary October 1919

Mary watched idly as a leaf, brown around the edges, detached itself from its branch and floated slowly to the ground. How soon summer seemed to have faded into autumn she thought. Her life seemed to be passing her by so quickly.

She was twenty eight years old, and she knew she ought really to be married. Richard had begun to hound her to set a date for their wedding and, given they'd now been engaged for over a year, she couldn't really blame him. She'd managed to put him off by attending more official engagements with him in London, but she knew she couldn't delay for much longer. Once Christmas was over she would have to agree to a date in the spring; not even she could manage to delay longer than that.

She just didn't want to marry him; he set her teeth on edge. He was angry, and rough with her and she couldn't remember the last time he'd made her laugh. And he was so jealous all the time. She supposed he thought he had a right to be jealous of Matthew, but, true to his vow, Matthew had offered nothing but friendship to her. There had been no secret meetings, no illicit trysts or stolen kisses. Nothing but friendship.

Another leaf started its slow descent to the ground as she watched from the bench which she thought of as hers and Matthew's. If only there was some way of extricating herself from Richard without exposing her family to ridicule and shame. She'd spent an inordinate amount of time pondering this question over the last few months, but had always drawn a blank. Richard had made it quite clear on a number of occasions that he would publish her scandal should she throw him over and that wouldn't just hurt her, but the whole family. There was no escape. She sighed loudly and jumped as a familiar voice called her name.

Matthew tipped his hat at her in greeting and she nodded her head.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Matthew asked.

If only she could tell him, Mary thought.

"I was just thinking that even I cannot delay setting a wedding date any longer than I have done" she said with a wry smile.

A shadow passed momentarily over Matthew's face.

"You're really going to marry him then?" he asked.

"Yes" she said simply.

"But..." Matthew began, but before he could continue Mary cut him off.

"Let's not argue about this Matthew" she said touching him arm briefly.

"Nothing about this is black and white."

Matthew nodded though whether in agreement Mary couldn't tell.

Matthew Christmas Night 1919

Matthew had always loved Christmas at Downton. It was nice to spend the day with lots of other people, rather than just with his mother, and there was a pleasant informality about it, barring the dinner itself, of course, which was always spectacular in a very Downton way.

Today, Christmas night, he sat contentedly in the drawing room with Isis at his feet as the family played charades, or, as Cousin Violet insisted, The Game. The fire was warm on his face as he sipped his whisky and watched Mary, his darling Mary, mid-charade. He loved Mary like this: relaxed and happy. It was so different to how she seemed to be most of the time. He laughed out loud as she she acted as, what he could only presume, was a madman. It was adorable. Perhaps it was the whisky in him, but he thought she had never looked so beautiful.

Charade over, Mary resumed her seat next to Carlisle. The all too familiar jealousy rose in his stomach as he watched Richard lean over and whisper something in Mary's ear. He knew he had no right to feel jealous, but all the same he couldn't understand why Mary was still intent on marrying Carlisle of all people. He knew Mary was a practical sort of person, and so he assumed that, despite their situation, she felt the need to be married and have a position, but why Richard? Richard who was clearly rough and unkind to her. If she had to be married to someone else then he wanted a good man for her, someone who would treat her as she deserved. She could do so much better than Carlisle, and he couldn't understand why she persisted in something which made her so unhappy.

He took another sip of his whisky and watched as Richard re-took his seat next to Mary following a very reluctant and lacklustre performance in The Game. He leaned towards her again and kissed her on her cheek; Matthew was sure he saw her flinch. He hated seeing Richard kiss Mary, as he imagined he would hate seeing any man, even a good and honourable one, kiss her. He closed his eyes briefly to escape them and remembered Mary telling him, that one glorious time, that she loved him. The memory warmed his heart more than any amount of whisky could.

It had been harder than he had thought, being true to his vows to Lavinia. Whilst he was glad that things were clear and open between him and Mary, it required an inordinate amount of self control on his part to maintain a friendship-only relationship with Mary knowing how she felt about him. He was sure it would get easier with time especially if Mary did ever actually marry Carlisle and move to Haxby. He couldn't imagine Downton without Mary, though. The two were so inextricably intertwined. Mary was the soul of Downton and Downton was the blood that ran through her veins.

"Mary, will you visit Downton much when you move to Haxby?" he asked her across the room.

Before Mary could answer, Richard cut in.

"Lady Mary will be much occupied in setting up our home together" he said curtly.

Mary opened her mouth as if to speak, but thought better of it. She smiled resignedly at Matthew.

"I am sure that I will want to visit my family a good deal, but I will have to see how much time married life affords me."

His heart broke for her. Why was she going on with this?


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Mary January 1920

After her Papa had left the room the relief poured out of Mary in huge hacking sobs. She finally had a way out; it was a scary way way out, but she didn't have to marry Richard. She didn't have to spend the rest of her life atoning for that one fateful mistake.

She felt so profoundly grateful to her Mama for being braver than she was and telling her Papa, and so incredibly fortunate that he had been so forgiving. She knew he was disappointed with her, but he hadn't been angry as she had always assumed he would be. And he had given her a way out; a way to escape Richard's threats and ride out the storm of scandal. She didn't have to marry him! She could barely believe it having spent so long feeling completely and soul-crushingly trapped.

The sobs began again, wracking her whole body. It was as if all the pressure which had built up within her had been allowed to escape out of of her, and she gave herself into the sobs.

A voice broke her solitude:

"Are you alright milady?"

Mary looked up to find Carson looking at her with deep concern.

"Carson, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there"

"No, milady, don't apologise. I didn't know anyone was in here and I just wanted to make sure everything was tidied away. I, well, I hope there's nothing serious the matter?"

Mary smiled at him. She loved Carson. He had always been so kind to her, ever since she was a little girl, and even when she didn't deserve it. He was always there, quietly in the background, making sure that she was alright and fighting her corner.

"It may not appear as such, Carson" she said drying her eyes on her handkerchief, "But I'm actually very much alright. Something which has been causing me a great deal of anguish has finally been resolved, or at least I now know how I can resolve it, and I'm really very relieved. Very very relieved."

As she finished speaking she felt very teary and emotional again.

"I'm so sorry Carson, I truly am alright. The happiest I've been in a long time!" she said smiling through the tears.

Carson smiled indulgently back at her.

"I'm so glad to hear that milady."

He smiled at her again and left the room. Mary finished wiping her eyes and stood up. She was scared about ending things with Richard, and the ensuing scandal, and also about Matthew finding out, but deep down she felt a peace inside her that she had not felt for a great many months. A new chapter in her life could finally start.

Matthew January 1920

Matthew knew that he was annoying his mother by pacing around the drawing room, but he couldn't find anything to occupy his restless mind. He had tried reading, and got Molesley to bring him a glass of whisky, and even got out some papers to do with the estate which he'd been meaning to go over, but all to no avail. He could not stop thinking about what Mary meant when she'd said that she had to marry Carlisle and he'd despise her if he knew the reason.

He didn't want Mary to marry Carlisle, but when that was for purely selfish reasons he had been able to accept that it was out of his hands, but now it seemed that Mary was marrying him against her will he could not stand it. What on earth could Carlisle be using to blackmail her in this way? His mind had been racing through the possibilities for the last two days: something he knew about Mary? Something about the family? The estate? Something Mary had done? Something he'd done to Mary? Each time he cycled through the list he worked himself up into such a a rage with Carlisle that he was all but ready to head down to London to find him and have it out with him there and then.

"Matthew!" his mother said wearily.

"For goodness sake! Either tell me what the matter is, or go to bed! I cannot bear anymore of this incessant pacing around me!"

"I'm sorry, mother" he said "I'm not trying to annoy you. I, I'm afraid I cannot tell you, but I will leave you in peace."

He left the room, but instead of heading up the stairs to bed he grabbed his coat and hat and headed out into the evening cold. It wasn't too late to see Mary at the house if he walked quickly. They always ate dinner later than he and Isobel did so he should be able to get Carson to hook her out whilst everyone else was engaged post-dinner.

He couldn't let Mary be bullied into marrying a man who was rough and unkind to her. Whatever Carlisle was holding against her could not be enough to subject her to a lifetime of misery. He would ask Mary to tell him, and then he would find a way to help her.

He headed out into the night, a steely determination in his eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Matthew January 1920

Matthew caught up with Mary as the dog-searching party headed back, sadly for Robert empty-handedly, to the house. He had come up to the house for a reason and he wasn't going to let a damn dog get in the way. Luckily for him, Mary started the conversation for him.

"Why were you up at the house this evening? Did Papa summon you?"

"As a matter of fact I came to see you. I wanted to find out what you meant when you said you had to marry Carlisle and that I'd despise you if I knew the reason."

Mary looked at him sadly.

"Yes. You would."

He was sure that he could never despise Mary, whatever it was. He loved her too much and for too long to imagine that he could find out anything about her that would change how he felt. Loving Mary was just about the only constant in his life.

"Whatever it is, it cannot be enough for you to marry him" he said adamantly.

"That's what Papa said"

Matthew felt momentarily and irrationally jealous that she had told Robert and not him.

"So, you told him?"

"Yes"

"And does he despise you?"

"He's... very disappointed in me" Mary said quietly looking at the ground.

Matthew needed to know. He simply could not bear it any longer.

"Even so, please tell me"

Mary sighed slightly, perhaps in resignation.

"Very well then. On one condition."

"Name it"

"Not so long ago you asked me if I would allow you to finish what you were saying before I said anything. Can you promise me the same now?"

"Of course" Matthew replied suddenly conscious of how serious this was for Mary.

"Richard knows something. Something about me that he's kept out of the papers. He's made it clear that if I don't marry him then he will no longer do that."

So he was right. He nodded in encouragement, and she continued.

"I'm sure you remember that some years ago, not long after you arrived I suppose, Mr. Napier brought a Turkish gentleman to stay at Downton."

Matthew remembered. How could anyone forget the events surrounding that gentleman.

"I... I was young, and stupid... and I flirted with him a great deal."

She was looking at the ground, and not at his face.

"I don't know how he managed it, but that evening he came to my room. I didn't invite him, and I told him to leave, but he wouldn't go."

Matthew felt his eyes widen. He went to her room? Uninvited? He felt anger rise within him, and he clenched his fists.

"I was weak, and foolish, and I let him into my bed. And, well, after we... he was dead. Mama and I moved him back to his room and well, you know the rest..." she tailed off.

Matthew was dumbfounded. Pamuk in Mary's bed? No! He could not have understood her correctly.

"You and he were..."

"Yes. We were lovers."

The words fell like a stone into the silence between them.

Mary January 1920

Matthew had turned away from her, and her heart sank. He did despise her; he couldn't even look at her.

"Say something" she said, echoing words Matthew had said to her only months before.

"Even if it's only goodbye"

Matthew turned towards her but still wouldn't look her in the eye.

"Did you love him?"

Oh Matthew!

"You mustn't try to..."

"Because if it was love, then..."

Her heart sank further. Trust Matthew to always be thinking the best of her.

"How could it be love? I didn't even know him..."

"Then why would you?"

It was a question she'd asked herself a thousand times since. Why? Why did she acquiesce? Why had she even flirted with him in the first place? Because she was young and foolish; because she didn't know anything of real life; because she had no idea of the magnitude of the error she was making.

"It was lust Matthew. Or a need for excitement. Or something in him that... Oh God, what difference does it make? I'm Tess of the D'Urbervilles to your Angel Clare. I have fallen. I am impure."

There was a bitterness to her tone which she knew wasn't really helpful, but, unlike Matthew, she had had years to come to terms with the fact that she was 'damaged goods' and that, like Angel Clare rejected Tess, so would she be rejected when her loss of virtue was made known.

"Don't joke. Don't make it little, not when I'm trying to understand."

"Thank you for that"

She was grateful. She was grateful that he was still talking to her; that he was trying. But she could feel that he was looking at her differently; seeing a different person to before. She was not who he thought her to be, she had given that away, foolishly, to Pamuk and she could never get it back.

"But the fact remains that I am made different by it. Things have changed between us."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Mary Eve of the Servants' Ball, January 1920

Mary sat for a moment in her room after Anna had left preparing herself for what was to come. Preparing herself to end her relationship with Richard, and for the ensuing scandal. She was terrified, but she had discovered a steely determination within her. Today she would take control of her life again.

She hadn't planned on telling Matthew about Pamuk yesterday, but she felt a great sense of relief that he had forced her to. Finally, after close on eight years, there were no secrets between them; no falseness or pretence. He knew who she really was and he had told her that he didn't despise her. Her conversation with Matthew had given her the strength the do what her Papa had suggested. Knowing that Matthew still loved her, and would stand by her as her friend, meant she felt she could face the worst that Richard could throw at her. And she was expecting the worst.

For a moment Mary mused on her relationship with Matthew. Her Matthew. It really was rather unusual. They loved each other, indeed, they were in love with each other but they were still kept apart by mistakes they'd made in the past. Matthew would forever feel bound to Lavinia, and she ever defined by Pamuk. She hoped one day that Matthew would be able to forgive himself, and her, but for now she was content that they were friends. It was more than she had ever dared to hoped.

She did regret not being braver and telling Matthew earlier though. If she'd been able to tell him before the war would he have left? Would they have been able to work it out? She would never know. They were both different people than they had been back then: older, wiser, more worldly-wise and certainly less black and white. She didn't think the old Matthew would've been so calm about her revelation, but she'd never know. Just one of many regrets she had.

She had no idea what her future would hold. America initially it seemed and Matthew had said that she would always have a home at Downton. She tried to imagine a future in which she and Matthew lived together at Downton as quasi brother and sister; living side by side but not truly together; loving each other but never expressing it physically or publicly. It would be a strange sort of life, but infinitely better than the lonely life she would've had as mistress of Haxby. There was talk from her Papa, and Matthew, of her finding some rich American to marry, but she was pretty sure that wouldn't happen. She loved Matthew with all her heart, there was simply no room for anyone else. Her experience with Richard had convinced her that a loveless marriage would be worse than no marriage, and so it seemed she would not marry, but grow old, and probably slightly mad, rattling around Downton.

She chuckled to herself at the thought, pulled on her gloves and headed downstairs to find Richard.

Matthew Morning of the Servants' Ball, January 1920

Isobel's words yesterday had struck a chord with Matthew. She'd told him to fight for Mary. One of his biggest regrets was that he hadn't fought for Mary before the war, that he'd let her slip through his fingers, and he was now wondering if he wasn't about to make the same mistake again. If Mary went to America it could be months before she was back, and what if she really did find an unsuspecting millionaire? He couldn't imagine his life without Mary in it, but he couldn't really expect her to stay unmarried and live with him at Downton forever, could he?

He poured himself a drink and sat down to think. Was he really contemplating asking Mary to marry him?

So much had happened over the last few days; his head was reeling, and his hand still bruised from punching that bastard Carlisle. God, that had felt good! He'd punched him for Mary's sake, for every time that he'd bullied her and hurt her, for every threat issued, every lie told, for every tear that he'd forced Mary to shed. With Carlisle out of the picture, he and Mary were finally free to marry if they wanted; for the first time in years they were neither spoken for, but it wasn't that simple, it was never that simple when it came to them.

Firstly, of course, was Pamuk. Mary had said that she was made different by him, and that it changed things between them. At the time, he'd been too shocked to counter that, but now he'd had time to think he didn't agree with her. The Mary he had loved all these years was the Mary who had been abused and taken advantage of by that scoundrel, she was the Mary who had carried around that shame and regret and who had never forgiven herself for a moment of weakness. She wasn't made different by him knowing about it, other than that he was able to understand her more; to begin to understand why she felt she couldn't accept him all those years ago. She thought herself as Tess and he as Angel Clare. If only she'd told him before the war! If only he could've shown her that he wasn't Angel Clare, that he would never reject her. No, if it were possible he loved Mary more knowing what she had been through at Pamuk's hands, not less.

The second, more complicated, matter was his vow to Lavinia. His mother had, twice now, told him that Lavinia would not want him to be unhappy and he had begun to wonder whether he had been wrong. Not wrong in wanting to honour her memory, but wrong about the way to do that.

He had felt that he deserved to be unhappy for the way he had betrayed Lavinia and broken her heart. But Lavinia had never asked that of him; it'd been his own reaction to the shame and guilt he felt over what he'd done. When Lavinia had realised that he was in love with Mary and not with her she had been brave and honourable and strong; she'd been able to admit that they were making a mistake and willing to step aside quietly. She had asked him to be happy, not to be unhappy. It was his own wounded pride, and guilty conscience, which had imposed unhappiness on himself as a way to atone for his behaviour.

Lavinia had been an incredible woman, and she had loved him much more than he had loved her, and so much more than he deserved. Her final wish had been that he was happy; perhaps the way to properly honour Lavinia was to be happy?


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Mary, Servants Ball, January 1920

Mary stood quietly at the side of the room watching Matthew. He was dancing with the cook, Mrs Patmore, which, given the height difference between them, was bordering on comical. Matthew was always a good sport at the Servants' Ball and she knew from Anna that all the female staff wanted to dance with him. She couldn't blame them; he always looked dashing in his white tie, and tonight was no exception. Given that she was now no longer engaged to another man, she felt a little freer to watch him publicly, but she knew she was still in danger of drawing attention to herself.

Looking at him now she couldn't help but remember what had happened last night. She'd been talking, arguing, with Richard and as he raised his voice to her Matthew had burst in all guns blazing! She'd asked him later and he'd said that he'd been hovering outside the door to make sure she was alright, and was worried that Richard might hurt her. She'd been frightened when Matthew punched Richard but also, at the same time, never felt more protected; more taken care of. Matthew had been her hero last night, and, if it were possible, it made him look all the more handsome tonight.

She glanced around the room, but her eyes were drawn back to him. She watched as a strand of his hair loosed itself from its place and fell across his face. He let go of Mrs Patmore for a brief moment to brush it out of his eyes and, as he did, he looked up at her and caught her eye. She was instantly embarrassed, but he smiled widely at her and, briefly checking no one else was watching, he winked at her. She stifled a giggle and looked away. Her insides felt like they were doing somersaults; how ridiculous that he could still make her feel like this!

As the dance finished Matthew bowed to Mrs Patmore and came over to her.

"Did I see you laughing at me?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

She smiled at him.

"Me?!" she replied with mock outrage.

"Yes, you, Lady Mary Crawley, I saw you!"

Behind him Mary could see a gaggle of female maids clearly hovering in the hope of catching Matthew's eye.

"I think you might be in demand, Mr. Crawley!" she said indicating towards the group with a smile.

Matthew grinned at her.

"It appears, My Lady, that I must beg you pardon."

He kissed her hand in an exaggerated manner and went to sweep some lucky maid off her feet.

Mary felt giddy. He was flirting with her. Definitely flirting. She hardly dared to let herself hope this meant something.

Matthew, Servants' Ball January 1920

Matthew scanned the room for Mary. He couldn't see her, perhaps she'd stepped out for a moment. It had been such a wonderful evening; he always loved the Servants' Ball, but tonight had been the best night he'd had in as long as he could remember. He'd drunk enough wine to make him feel slightly fuzzy around the edges, but his mind was clear: he was going to ask Mary to marry him!

Mary was always beautiful, but tonight she was simply radiant, and he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her. He'd have happily danced only with her this evening, but his role at the Ball, like all the family, was to dance with the staff and ensure they were having a good time. He felt he had more than done his duty when he broke the rules and asked Mary to dance. Dancing with her again had been intoxicating. With his arms around her he felt, as he had done that fateful last dance, that he was where he belonged. She fitted into his arms perfectly, and completed him. He'd already made his peace with regards to his vow to Lavinia, but it was as they were dancing that he'd decided that he would ask her to marry him tonight. He'd let her slip through his fingers once before and he wasn't about to let that happen again, and he didn't want to waste a single second of time they might have together.

He felt the beginnings of nerves as he continued to look for her. She was definitely not in the room. He sidled quietly up to Carson who was watching proceedings from the sidelines like a presiding judge.

"Carson, you don't happen to know where Lady Mary is, do you?" he asked trying to keep his tone light.

"I believe she has stepped outside the front door for some air, Mr. Crawley" Carson replied, and Matthew was sure he smiled at him knowingly.

"Thank you."

He moved through the crowd towards the front door; she was standing just outside framed by the door jambs like a portrait. It had started to snow, very gently, and flakes fell around her as she looked out over the grounds. Matthew stopped and watched her for a moment, his heart beating loudly in his chest. She looked like a princess from a fairy tale, and he was momentarily frozen to the spot. To think he was about to ask her to marry him. He felt, in that moment, so utterly blessed.

He took a deep breath, mustered his courage, and stepped out into the snow.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

 _This is it folks. The final chapter. Hope you've enjoyed it because I certainly have enjoyed writing it! Congrats if you've made it this far. Enjoy xx_

Mary, Servants Ball, 1920

It was snowing but Mary wasn't cold. She'd been standing for a while on the front steps getting some air when Matthew had joined her. A shiver, nothing to do with the snow, ran up her back.

Matthew initially made small talk about the ball, and then asked her again, as he had done when they were dancing, whether she was really leaving. The air felt thick with anticipation as the conversation reached a natural pause. Mary hugged her arms to her side, not because she was cold but because she needed something to do. The silence seemed oppressive and she looked up at the night sky as she waited for Matthew to say something.

"Would you stay, if I asked you to?"

Fireworks exploded in Mary's chest; he couldn't mean it, could he? Things had been different between them the last few days, but there was still so much which felt unanswered; so much still unsaid.

"Oh Matthew! You don't mean that. You know yourself we carry more luggage than the porters at Kings Cross."

Matthew laughed, and simply smiled adoringly at her, which made her heart leap, but it wasn't enough. She would clearly have to push him if she wanted some more specific reassurance from him.

"And what about the late Mr Pamuk? Won't he resurrect himself every time we argued?"

"No."

Mary was caught off guard at the simplicity of his answer. She looked up at him to try and gauge what he meant. He was still smiling at her.

"You mean you've forgiven me?"

She looked at him, hopefully, expectantly. If he had forgiven her for her mistake then they might be able to move on from it; she need no longer be defined by that man's actions.

"No, I haven't forgiven you."

Mary felt deflated. This wasn't going to work after all.

"Well then.." she said dropping her eyes from his to try and hide the disappointment in them.

She was surprised when Matthew started speaking again.

"I haven't forgiven you because, I don't believe you need my forgiveness."

Matthew paused and she tried to take in the enormity of his words. He didn't blame her. It didn't change things between them. He wouldn't hold it against her forevermore. Matthew was still smiling at her, and she smiled back trying, without words, to convey how much what he had just said meant to her.

Matthew took a small step towards her, closing ever so slightly the space between them.

"You've lived your life and I've lived mine, and now it's time we lived them together."

Mary could barely believe what she was hearing. She felt both elated and terrified in equal measure. Matthew really was asking her to be his Mary Crawley for all eternity. She wanted to be his, more than anything in the world, but she was also terrified that it would all crumble into ashes again. That, just as she'd put her heart back together again, that it would be broken all over again. That's what they did to each each other. She needed to know that he was sure; that his wasn't just the wine talking, or even just because he would miss her if she went to America. She needed to know for sure that he wanted to marry her, to be hers forever, come what may.

"We've been on the edge of this so many times Matthew. Please don't take me there again unless you're sure."

He looked straight at her, his blue eyes bored into her very soul; she felt like she could fall right into them.

When Matthew spoke it was calm and assured.

"I am sure"

Mary felt almost lightheaded. What she had yearned for for all her adult life seemed so tantalisingly close, but there was one final things that she needed to know that Matthew was sure about.

"And your... vows to the memory of Lavinia?"

He looked down, almost sheepishly.

"I was wrong."

Matthew looked out into the night as he continued, still calm and certain.

"I don't think she wants us to be unhappy. She was someone who never caused a moments sorrow in her whole life."

Mary nodded in encouragement.

"I agree."

She did agree. She had never thought that Lavinia's death should mean that they could never be together, but she had always tried hard to respect Matthew's decision on the matter.

Mary was suddenly aware that there was now finally, after eight long years, nothing separating them; not her shame nor Matthew's guilt. Time seemed to slow as she waited for Matthew to speak; as she waited for him to change the course of their lives forever.

"Then will you?"

Matthew, Servants' Ball, 1920

Matthew's question hung in the air. Will you? Will you marry me? Will you be with me forever? Will you make me the happiest man alive? Will you, Mary? Ever the pragmatist, Mary had cycled through all the reasons why she shouldn't and now it was time for her to decide if she would.

As he watched, Mary dropped her defences and a smile began to play on the edges of her mouth. This was the real Mary, his Mary, the one underneath the mask that only a few people got to see, the one who he had always been in love with. Her eyes sparkled with fun as she spoke:

"You must say it properly. I won't answer unless you... kneel down and everything!"

A laugh escaped his lips and he held Mary's gaze. Admittedly his proposal hadn't exactly been romantic, but if it meant she would say yes he would've prostrated himself at her feet.

He knelt down, the snow cold through his trouser leg, and looked up at her. It was still snowing gently. The snowflakes which had landed in her hair shimmered in the moonlight. He wanted always to remember this moment; to remember how beautiful and happy Mary looked and how his heart felt like it might burst out of his chest. He took her hands in his, still holding her gaze.

"Lady Mary Crawley, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

Mary, Servants' Ball, 1920

As Matthew said those life-changing words, as he asked her to become his wife, Mary felt like the world had stopped and there was only the two of them in existence. She had felt like this only once before: when they were dancing to the gramophone. How different this was from then! Then it was wrong and dangerous, now there could be nothing more right. Then it had been the end of something, but now was only the very start. The start of the life they had always been meant to lead: a life together. She felt so happy she thought that she might burst!

She looked at Matthew, finally her Matthew, and smiled.

"Yes!"

Matthew stood up and kissed her. It was not like either of the other times she'd kissed him; this time there was nothing holding either of them back, there was no edge of sadness or guilt, just pure unadulterated joy at being together, and all that the future would hold for them.

Matthew put his arms around her waist, lifted her up and spun her round. She laughed and buried her face into his neck as he laughed with her. This was, without doubt, where she wanted to be, where she belonged, for all of time.

 _"The spaces between your fingers were created so that another's could fill them in."_

 **The End**


End file.
